Identity Crisis
by phnx007
Summary: Crossover with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Bones. Series of One-Shots. Post NFA. Includes all major characters from Bones and Buffy. "Thinking about it, I don't think any shrink could handle that kind of patient."
1. Therapy

Buffy swiveled in her chair, sighing. "Giles, I'm bored. Are you sure you couldn't hurry it up with the research there and I can get on with the slayage?"

Giles looked up from the ancient demon text he had been reading for the past two hours, a startled expression on his face. "Well gee, Buffy, I'm awfully sorry that the information we need to defeat this demon is not presenting itself so readily. It might do that, however, if I had some help."

"But Willow and Xander went out for ice cream. It would be rude to call them back just so they can do research."

Giles rolled his eyes and went back to reading, muttering something about how surprising it was the world hadn't totally ended yet.

After a few more moments, Buffy sighed again. "Giles—"

"Don't you have work to do, Buffy?" Giles asked, not taking his eyes off of his book.

"I do, but it's desk work, and desk work is too boring, especially right now when all I want is some good slaying distractions." The last part she had muttered to herself, not really expecting Giles to hear her.

But Giles wasn't a former Watcher for nothing, and his multitasking skills are phenomenal. He sat back in his chair. "Ah, is this about—"

Buffy snapped her head around, and looked right at him. "Don't say it. I don't want to talk about it."

"Buffy it's been—"

"I know how long it's been, and I know what you're going to say—that if Angel were still alive, he would have contacted me, us, by now. Of course, if he hadn't been such a goddamn idiot and asked for my help, he wouldn't be possibly dead and/or missing in the first place. I mean really, he's such a martyr. He's got so many complexes, even his complexes have complexes. If I ever find him again, I'm sending him to therapy."

Buffy paused in her ranting. Then, "Do you know anyone who would take a 250 year old vampire with a soul who carries a lot of guilt from brutally killing people the first 150 years of his undead life as a patient?"

Giles stared at her. "Been wanting to rant about all that for a long time, have you?"

Buffy deflated, falling back into her chair. "Yes. Thinking about it, I don't think any shrink could handle that kind of patient."

Washington DC: The Office of Doctor Lance Sweets

Doctor Lance Sweets stared at his patient. No, not his patient. His friend. At least he thinks so. The FBI agent sometimes had problems with threatening Sweets to either a) beat him up, or b) shoot him. Non-lethally, of course. But shooting him all the same. But still, his friend.

And right now, he was deeply concerned about his friend.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat yourself?"

"You damn well heard me, Sweets."

"Yes, I heard you. So you're saying, and correct me if I'm wrong, but you think that you are a 250-year-old vampire who was cursed with his soul in the year 1898 by Gypsies so you could suffer for the crimes that you committed while not in possession of your soul?"

"No."

"But that's what you just said."

"No. I said that I _used _to be a 250-year-old vampire who was cursed with is soul in 1898 by Gypsies in order to suffer for crimes committed while soulless."

Sweets clicked his pen. "Uh huh."

"Obviously I'm not one now, Sweets. There is sunlight streaming through your window and hitting me. I am sitting in direct sunlight and not bursting into flames."

Sweets stared at the agent again. "You really believe this, don't you?"

"Yes."

Sweets waited, knowing that wasn't everything.

Then Special Agent Seeley Booth sighed, clearly frustrated and confused. He ran a hand through his hair and across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his zippo lighter, flipping it open and closed. He sat back and sighed.

"At least, I think so."


	2. Those Who Hang Out In Cemeteries

"Hey Bones, what's up?"

"Hello, Booth. I'm calling because I'm confused as to why Cullen has requested I work with another agent. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Cullen told you _what?!_"

"He said that I'm to work with another agent for the time being because Sweets didn't clear you for field duty yet. I thought you seemed fine earlier."

"I am fine, Bones. I just need to have a little word with Doctor Sweets."

"Booth, is everything okay? You're okay, right?"

Booth paused. "Yes, I'm fine."

Before Bones could respond, he hung up and went straight to Sweets office.

Sweets barely managed to not spill his coffee all over his new suit when Booth practically kicked his office door down. He did, however, burn his tongue on said coffee, and for that, he momentarily forgot just how intimidating Special Agent Seeley Booth can be.

"Ow! Geez, Booth, haven't you ever heard of knocking? My tongue is going to be sore for a really long time now!"

"What are you, twelve? Wait, don't answer. You are. Now, sit down. I've got some things to say to you."

"Uh, Booth. I am sitting down."

Booth stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Oh. Right. Then I'll just sit down then."

Booth shut Sweets's office door, making sure no one was in the general vicinity and could potentially over hear his and Sweets conversation. For reasons unknown to Booth, he felt very strongly about those flashes of memories of another life he kept having, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to take precautionary measures to not get locked up in the loony bin.

Of course, he did confide in Sweets the other day, for reasons _definitely _unknown to him, but everything in this little room is confidential, as they say, and Booth really needs help with sorting through these memories. No matter how bizarre they may be.

Booth strode over to the couch and sat down, staring hard at Sweets.

"Why didn't you clear me for field duty?"

Sweets looked up at Booth, a startled expression crossing his features. "Are you seriously asking me that question?"

"This is about the vampire thing, isn't it?"

Sweets set his coffee down on the small table in front of him, got up and started pacing. "Yes, this is about the vampire thing! I'm not clearing you for field duty until I know for sure you're not totally insane!"

Booth sighed and sat back, thinking. He had to play this right. He needed to get back out on the job. His little brain tumor thing had really messed up his daily routine, and Sweets was getting in the way of his normal life.

A part of him, a _very small_ part of him, thought the vampire thing was the normal he was trying to get back to, and the part of him that was Seeley Booth knew that working with Bones and the rest of the squints at the Jeffersonian was his normal life.

And just when had he started thinking of himself as two people?

But he was determined to figure out what was going on. He was an investigator, after all. For the FBI. The Federal Bureau of goddamn Investigation, and by God, he can solve a little case of a mere identity crisis.

Sweets was still pacing, throwing worried glances in his direction. Booth needed to think of something fast.

And then, inspiration.

"Sweets!" he exclaimed, jumping up off the couch. "I've got proof!"

"Oh, you got proof now? I'm sorry Booth, but this is insane."

"Sweets, quit your freaking pacing and listen to me. I've got proof."

"I don't care. I'm not going along with whatever you're thinking."

"Fine. Let's make a bet—I show you my proof, and it's correct, I get a hundred dollars and you clear me for field duty. If my proof proves false, I owe you a hundred dollars and you still clear me for field duty."

Sweets rolled his eyes at Booth, but stopped his pacing. "Aren't you a reformed gambler? You shouldn't be making bets."

Booth didn't answer. Sweets thought a moment. _A hundred dollars…_

"What kind of proof?"

Booth smiled. It wasn't a smile that Sweets had ever seen Booth use before. He wouldn't say it was evil, _exactly_. But it was twisted in a sort of I-know-something-you-don't-know kind of smile, but with a hint of wickedness throw in. Sweets didn't think Booth was even aware he was doing it.

"The undead kind of proof."

**A Cemetery in Washington DC**

Sweets couldn't believe he let Booth, who was possibly insane, drag him out to some cemetery in the middle of the night. It was cold, and had recently rained, which meant sitting was out of the question, as the grass was still very damp. Plus, there was just something about cemeteries that freaked Sweets out. It probably had to do with all the dead people there.

Him and Booth were standing in front of a grave. It was marked "David Shaw—Beloved Brother" and apparently Booth thought a vampire was going to rise from the ground. Right here. In this spot.

Sweets vaguely wondered if Zach was feeling lonely in the asylum. He had a perfect someone he could throw in there to keep him company.

Speaking of, he looked over at his friend. Booth was staring at the grave, a newspaper tucked under one arm, his expression one of apprehension. They had been standing there for a little over an hour.

"Um, Booth? What's supposed to be happening?"

Without taking his eyes off the headstone, Booth replied, "Just hang on a second."

Sweets sighed.

A couple of minutes passed. Then,

"Oh."

"What?"

Booth laughed, shaking his head, now looking at the newspaper he had brought with him. "This is the wrong the grave. The dead person we're waiting for is _Daniel _Shaw. Not David. Follow me."

_This is going to be a long night, _Sweets thought, and then took off after Booth.

**At the Grave of Daniel Shaw—Same Cemetery, Same Night**

"Okay, now the fun can begin!"

"Oh, I thought it began when we stood in front of the wrong grave for an hour."

"Wow, was that sarcasm Sweets? There is no sarcasm allowed when demon fighting. However, any witty puns are acceptable."

"Booth, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Uh—just, nevermind."

And so they stood, once again, in front of a grave, apparently waiting for a vampire to rise out of the ground.

And after a few minutes, one did.

The ground started to rumble. A hand shot through the grass, searching for purchase. Sweets squeaked.

"Booth…th-there's a…uh, a…"

"Yep."

"I mean, a, a hand just shot through the ground!"

"I see that, Sweets."

Sweets gulped. "What do we do?"

Booth stared at the hand. Which turned into an arm. Then another hand and arm, when, finally, a full-fledged vampire was standing before them.

Booth hadn't really expected to be right. But he had had a gut feeling, and even though Bones never understood what a gut feeling was, really, she was always saying that his were usually pretty good.

And so when he had found that obituary in the paper about Daniel Shaw dying of blood loss with two holes in his neck, well, it could only mean one thing, really.

Booth turned to Sweets, eyes wide. "I'm not entirely sure."

"You're not sure? You're NOT SURE?!" Sweets yelled, as the two of them backed away from the slowly advancing vampire. "This was your idea!"

"I had a gut feeling, Sweets! A gut feeling!" Booth hissed.

"Why are your gut feelings _always_ right? You couldn't have been wrong just this once?! I would feel way more comfortable with throwing you in the loony bin with Zach than I am with going face to face with a freaking vampire!"

Booth stopped and turned to Sweets. "Well, gee Sweets. Tell me how you really feel."

"Booth, what are you doing? The vampire is right—"

But Sweets was cut off when the vampire took a hold of Booth and lifted him up in the air by the neck.

"Ah, how easy this was. My food came right to me. I was hoping to have a little more fun," the vampire said.

Booth wasn't sure why, but he thought this vampire was kind of lame. That line sounded so cliché. He was pretty sure he could do better.

He was pretty sure he _had_ done better.

"Sweets—" Booth coughed, the vampire's hold on his next tightening.

"What?"

"Branch—now." But before Sweets could comprehend what Booth was talking about, the vampire tossed Booth aside, and set his sights on Sweets.

Booth gasped, desperately trying to gulp in more air while keeping an eye on Sweets and the vampire.

"Booth, do something!" Sweets exclaimed when the vampire grabbed a hold of him.

Wrangling in a breath, Booth stood up and grabbed the lowest hanging branch of the nearest tree, and yanked as hard as he could. It snapped off pretty easily. Branch in hand, Booth turned to the vampire, who had Sweets in a stranglehold. He broke the branch in half and advanced on the vampire. Without really thinking, he plunged the branch into the vampire's heart. Dust exploded around them, and Sweets fell to the ground.

Sweets looked up at Booth, wheezing. "You came to—to, a demon fight without any weapons?"

Booth shrugged, looking at the branch in his hand. "Guess so."

Sweets groaned and rolled onto his back. "You were right."

Booth sat down on the ground next to Sweets, still out of breath himself.

There was a moment of silence.

"Hey, Sweets."

"Hmm."

"You have to clear me for field duty now. Oh, and you owe me hundred bucks."

Sweets couldn't help but laugh.


	3. Ghosts and Sunlight

Willow hadn't meant to find it. She had only been searching on the computer for any news reports on suspicious deaths on the east coast for a case they were working on. Just tracking the path the demon had taken, really, when bam! there it was. _His _picture.

He looked the same, if slightly older. One could argue he was just an ancestor, because this shouldn't be possible. And didn't his whole family die in a village almost 300 years ago, anyway? And there was no mistaking the eyes. Dark, chocolate brown. And haunted. Apparently you could take the demon out of the man, but not the guilt.

And he supposedly he worked for the FBI now.

After taking her eyes off of his picture, Willow read the report. As she read, her eyes grew wide and her breath became shallow.

The report was from last year—a case involving a serial killer called The Gravedigger. In this particular instance, the FBI agent, formally known as Angel—vampire with a soul and presumed dead for the last five years—had been kidnapped by The Gravedigger and stowed away on Navy ship scheduled for demolition. The report ended with how the agent had narrowly escaped, jumping on to a Navy helicopter seconds before the ship exploded.

She had just finished the report, trying to steady her breath and settle the uneasiness creeping into her stomach, when someone walked into the room.

"Whatcha got there, Red? You don't look so good," Spike said, sauntering his way over to stand behind her. Willow didn't answer, just kept staring at the computer. Spike leaned over, reading.

She heard him gasp he saw the picture. "Bloody hell."

Willow just nodded.

"Print it out. Buffy needs to see this." Spike started toward the door.

"Spike?"

Spike paused just as he got to the door and turned to look at the witch. From where he stood, the sunlight hit him directly. It had been five years, and Willow still couldn't get used to seeing him in sunlight. She couldn't make out the expression on his face, though.

"It's okay, Red. We'll figure this out. I mean, he's alive, right?" He gave an uneasy laugh.

"According to the report, he almost died."

"Apparently he's an FBI agent now. They almost die all the time."

There was a pause. Then Spike smiled, shaking his head.

"FBI agent. Step up from a private investigator, yeah? Only him."

Then he turned and walked back out, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Willow went back to her computer. She read the report one more time.

There was something odd about his ordeal on the Navy ship. To get to the deck of the ship, opening all those doors and escaping from a locked hatch would at least be a two-person job. Or a one-person job, if that one person happened to have vampire strength.

She smiled and clicked "print."


	4. In Which Booth Gets Answers, Sort of

You could always tell when Jack Hodgins was on to something big. He would start sweating, and the balls of his feet just couldn't stay on the ground. His eyes would dart around the room, as if looking for anyone who might know that he knows whatever the hell they know that they don't want anyone to know. Conspiracies are complicated.

But the one surrounding Sweets and Booth is just plain weird.

That was the other reason for his nervousness — he was going to confront Booth about what he overheard the two of them talking about. He may just be known as the Bug Guy, and most of the time King of the Lab, but he also really loved secrets. And he wanted in on this one.

The time on his watch said 4:53. He had never left early in his entire life, but he noticed Booth and Sweets walking toward the exit of the Jeffersonian, with no one else with them. It was as good a time as any. He swiped up the DVD lying next to his computer, grabbed his bag, and headed for the ext.

"Hey! Booth! Sweets!"

The FBI men both turned as Hodgins jogged up to them right as they hit the doors.

"Hey, Hodgins. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say hey."

Booth glanced at Hodgins as they made their way to the parking lot. "What do you want Hodgins?"

"What?"

Sweets raised his eyebrows at the scientist. "You're sweating. And you look nervous. What is it that you want?"

"Oh, umm. Well actually I wanted to see if you guys wanted to do a movie night. Over at my house? Tonight."

That made both FBI men stop. They didn't say anything, just looked at Hodgins like he was suggesting they go put on some high heels and run a marathon.

Gathering courage, he held up the DVD he had picked up at the store earlier that day. "I think we all three need to talk."

Sweets and Booth looked at the DVD. Booth took it from the scientist. "'Twilight?' What kind of crap is this?"

"I couldn't find 'Dracula' at the store, and that one was really cheap. But I think it gets the message across."

"Hmm, and what message would that be?" Booth handed the DVD back, amused.

Hodgins shrugged. "Oh, you know."

When they didn't answer, Hodgins started pacing. In the back of his mind, he figured a government parking lot was probably not the best place for this conversation, but he didn't care.

"I've heard you guys talking. You're not as sneaky as you think, you know. Something about vampires, souls and magic, or whatever. And before you tell me to fuck off, Booth, I also know that you don't know who you are, and you think you may have been, or still are, a vampire."

Hodgins stopped his rambling to look back at them. To their credit, they gave away no indication that Hodgins was right. But there was one more card Hodgins was holding.

He stared right at Booth and said, "And I think I can help you with that."

There. Booth tensed slightly at that, and Hodgins knew he had them.

Sweets, Hodgins and Booth made it to Hodgins's mansion without any comments on why they were going and what they were planning on talking about. Once there, all three sat in the large living room, Booth nursing a beer, Sweets sipping coffee, and Hodgins nervously waiting for someone to say something.

"We don't actually have to watch 'Twilight,' do we?" Booth asked, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in front of him.

Hodgins looked like he was going to tell Booth off for the feet on coffee table thing, but thought better of it when he remembered he was about to reveal to Booth that he's been brainwashed to believe he's someone else.

"No, we don't have to watch 'Twilight.'"

"Good. So what did you mean when you said you could help me with my…situation?"

So right to it then. Hodgins glanced at Sweets, who was watching the conversation with an air of cool indifference, like he hadn't witnessed a vampire rise out of the ground a couple of night ago.

"Have you ever heard of Wolfram & Hart?" Hodgins asked.

"Can't say I have," Booth replied.

"They were a law firm."

"Were?" Sweets asked, his interest peaking up.

"Yeah. But they don't exist anymore. Haven't for five years."

"Okay, wait. Back up," Booth said, holding his hand up in the universal sign for 'stop.' "Is this one of your government conspiracies? Because if it is, I'm leaving right now."

"No, it's not. I promise. Wolfram & Hart disappeared off the face of the Earth and out of the minds of every civilian five years ago."

"Then why do you know about it?" Sweets asked.

"Because I think I worked there."

Booth and Sweets looked at one another. "Think?" Booth asked.

Hodgins nodded eagerly. "You've been having dreams, right? Of a life you don't remember?"

Booth reluctantly nodded yes.

"Me too," Hodgins continued. "But I was just a lowly lawyer at one of the most prestigious law firms in the world. I didn't matter. But you….you mattered, Booth."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You."

Booth sat back, staring at Hodgins, looking for signs of Hodgin's normally erratic behavior when talking about conspiracies. They were there, but they were subtle.

"What was so important about me?"

Hodgins smiled. "The thing about Wolfram & Hart, Booth, is that it wasn't just any law firm. It was a demonic one. Evil. And you were the CEO."

Booth laughed at that, though it could probably be defined as a 'hysterical' laugh. "I work hard for my country to put bad guys in prison. And now you're saying I was CEO of a evil, demonic law firm?"

Hodgins snapped his fingers, pointing at Booth. "That's the thing though. I don't think you were evil."

"Then what was I?"

With a sigh, Hodgins leaned back into the couch. "You were a 251-year-old vampire with a soul. Your name was Angel."

Booth sat his beer down on the coffee table and leaned forward, wanting Hodgins to continue.

Hodgins looked right back at Booth. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"


End file.
